The House Always Wins
by Darian House
Summary: <html><head></head>I hope you're still enjoying the story!  I do intend to bring it to a conclusion - I won't walk away from it.  Right now, I'm waiting to see what happens in Lonesome Road.  I expect to write 5 or 6 more chapters, maybe more .  I hope you'll bear with me!</html>
1. Chapter 1

**The House Always Wins**

_**Chapter 1**_

_Five Years After The Defeat of the Legion and the NCR at Hoover Dam._

The Presidential Suite of the Lucky 38 was quiet.

For the first time in months the Courier had a few moments to himself, and he choose to use them by indulging in a bit of reverie. Considering everything that had been accomplished in just five years, a short rest was a small, but enjoyable, reward.

Mr. House had entrusted more and more of the day to day operations of New Vegas to the Courier, and it seemed that there were always supplicants that needed to be heard, always workers that had to have a few moment to discuss the latest projects that were in the works.

Intending only to close his eyes for a moment, the Courier drifted to sleep, dreaming of the beginning...

1

_The Day of the Defeat of the Legion and the NCR at Hoover Dam._

The road back to New Vegas was clogged with NCR soldiers retreating from the dam. Despite the centuries that separated him from the pre-War days, the Courier had an inkling of what life might have been had the bombs never fallen. Carts, pulled mostly by bighorners and civilians, filled with NCR equipment and wounded made their way slowly west. Soldiers, nearly all of them scowling when the Courier came into view, meandered between the carts trying to make their way past the slow moving vehicles.

The Securitrons cleared the way for the Courier.

Although many of the soldiers were happy to be going home, they were all, to a man, angry with the perceived betrayal of the Courier - a man that many in the NCR idolized prior to the crushing defeat at the dam. In spite of this anger, none dared to assault (or even approach) the man now guarded by dozens of Securitrons.

Finally clearing the long line of carts and soldiers, the Courier moved at a much faster pace. He was eager to return to New Vegas, to the Penthouse of the Lucky 38, to answer the summons of Mr. House. With his own ideas about the future of New Vegas, he was eager to discuss the next steps in the rebuilding of humanity.

After an uneventful and unusually peaceful journey, the Courier arrived at the gates of Freeside. Entering the normally tense atmosphere of the slum, he was surprised to be greeted by cheers. Obviously, the citizens of New Vegas had already been told of the victory, and were heady with the thrill. Being surrounded by Securitrons held the people at bay, but nothing could stop them from voicing their approval of the outcome of the battle.

He knew that many citizens of New Vegas resented the NCR and their heavy-handed ways, and nearly all of them were terrified of the Legion. Being acclaimed as the man that chased away two nightmares might have gone to his head, had he not known that there was still much work to be done, and, probably, more blood to be shed.

The Strip was packed with citizens, gamblers, and members of the two surviving "Three Families" and, of course, the ever present Securitrons. The applause and cheers as the Courier made his way to the Lucky 38 was deafening, and it was something of a blessing to shut most of it out as he closed the doors to the empty casino behind him. By the time he arrived at the Penthouse, the roar had subsided to a distant buzz.

Jane made an unprecedented first move towards him, her unchanging face smiling as always.

"Mr. House is just as pleased as punch with you! I don't think I've ever seen him so excited!"

The Courier merely nodded, walking past Jane to the stairs which led to the inner sanctum of the great Robert Edwin House.

. . .

Standing before the large monitor, the Courier waited as the connection was reset. Soon, the flickering image of Mr. House appeared, and his booming, slightly computerized voice addressed him.

"You've arrived at last. I've been eager to speak with you."

The Courier smiled, knowing full well that Mr. House could have spoken to him at any time through his Securitrons.

"The NCR retreat made the roads a bit busier than usual", he said. "Of course, the masses waiting to welcome me back didn't help matters. I suppose I have you to thank for that?"

The image on the screen didn't change, but the voice made it clear that Mr. House was smiling.

"Indeed. The instant you accepted the NCR surrender, I announced the news. Ambassador Crocker was none too pleased, and he actually demanded to speak to me, face to face! I refused to see him, of course. The official word must have come to him from McCarran, and the "evacuation" began shortly thereafter."

He could only imagine the look on Crocker's face as he heard the announcement. "Have you taken precautions to insure that the NCR doesn't damage the monorail?"

"Several Securitrons have been stationed at both stops, as well as within the cars themselves." A flicker in the screen. "I've begun the process of altering the power grid. The extra power from Hoover Dam, as well as from Helios One, will be a tremendous boon for New Vegas. I need you to re-open the switching stations at the outskirts of the city, to divert the extra power to various key areas."

"To the point as always, eh Mr. House?"

"Naturally."

2

_One Year After the Defeat of the Legion and the NCR at Hoover Dam_

New Vegas was booming.

Since the victory at Hoover Dam, the Courier had devoted much of his time to rebuilding the city. To compensate for the loss of the White Glove Society, the Kings had been, somewhat reluctantly, recruited to fill the empty spot. With the Silver Rush (re-established as a full-fledged casino) and the Atomic Wrangler now operating under the control of Mr. House -through the Kings- the predicted return of gamblers and pleasure seekers had risen to levels that surprised everyone.

Refugees were constantly pouring in, hoping to find safety. The Courier had convinced Mr. House to open Camp McCarran to them, with the eventual goal of resettling them in the soon to be rebuilt areas of Freeside, Westside, and the completely restructured South Vegas.

The Courier was not entirely satisfied with this arrangement, however. His new idea was a bold one, something that might prove impossible to fully realize, but he meant to do his best to convince Mr. House to allow him to put his plan into effect.

Arriving in the Penthouse, he brushed past Jane without stopping to acknowledge her customary greeting - knowing that she wouldn't take it personally.

He knew that he had to get the idea out before Mr. House could assign him some other task, and he began as soon as he stopped before the giant screen.

"Mr. House, I have an idea I want to discuss with you. Something that could change the face of the Mojave, and remain as a lasting tribute to you and your vision."

Flattery never hurt, though he wasn't sure if it was recognized as such, or taken as a simple statement of fact.

"Please, go on."

The slight tinge of parental indulgence made him feel a bit strange, but he proceeded in spite of flush he felt rising in his face.

"We have thousands of people doing nothing since the NCR left. We also have literally tons of NCR equipment that they left behind after their retreat. I want to put the equipment in the hands of those malleable people, to give them a purpose."

Silence from Mr. House was never a good sign, but he continued nevertheless.

"I want to see New Vegas become more than just the remnants of Las Vegas. I want to see New Vegas become, not just a tourist attraction, but a power that no one would dare attack."

Silence.

"What do you think of...the New Vegas Republic?"

. . .

"The _New Vegas Republic_? What a novel concept. Do you expect me to replace the bureaucratic red tape of the NCR with a brand new layer? Do you dream of pseudo-democratic _reforms and commissions_?"

The image on the screen didn't change, but his voice made it clear that he was somewhat displeased, or perhaps he was mocking the Courier- a possibility that was ever present. Though the anger of Mr. House was far more dangerous now than it had ever been, the Courier was certain he knew just how far he could push, and he intended to push the limit.

"Of course not. I'm not suggesting a democracy, or a legion. No red tape, no minor functionaries, no limits to your power. Just think of the possibilities. If you create a state, you'll give the people of the Mojave something to believe in - and fight for."

"Now why would I need_ them _to fight for me? The Strip will never fall - you've seen to that. Or do you desire the power for yourself? You wouldn't be thinking of attempting to betray me, would you?"

A Securitron edged slightly closer, presumably preparing to attack in the event of a positive reply from the Courier.

"No. Some men are meant to lead. Others, like me, are meant to be trusted lieutenants. I never questioned your orders". The Securitron eased slowly away. He noticed that it was still facing him, however. "Do you really believe I would try something now, given the rise in your position?"

"Well, then, why this talk of republics?"

"Republic only in the generic sense. You would be "President" of this republic, and the real goal is not to civilise the wastes, but to profit from them. You have an army just waiting to be formed, a human army that would allow the Securitrons to be used elsewhere. A human army to occupy all the posts abandoned by the NCR and the Legion. The Boomers will ally with you, and perhaps even the Super-Mutants in Jacobstown could be brought into the fold."

"And?"

"And then we fortify your new republic. A republic that stretches from Ellis to Searchlight, and everywhere in between. We'll be on the very doorstep of the NCR and, if they attack us, we'll grind them into dust!"

Silence, again, from Mr. House. It was a waiting game, one with very high stakes. It was not unheard of for "trusted lieutenants" to meet with unfortunate accidents and, just like the Vegas of old, there were far too many secluded places where someone could disappear.

"What you are suggesting does seem to be a logical step. I suppose we can't allow the rabble to take possession of the weaponry left behind, out there in the Wastes."

The Courier had spun the wheel, and won.

"You're right, as always, Mr. House. They can't take the weapons, but we can give them to them. A new republic needs an army, and we can forge that army from the rubble. Your great victory over the NCR and the Legion, and your promise of protection and prosperity, will swell your ranks in a way unmatched by any patriotic drivel that others have relied on. You, Mr. House, have given the people of the Wastes hope - something most of them thought long gone."

"And will you take charge of training this new army?"

Mr. House had warmed to the idea, but it could still fall apart - it was all in the details now.

"No, Boone will do it. He won't leave New Vegas, and he needs to feel useful. You can trust him - I do. Give him a squadron of willing recruits, and he'll turn it into the beginnings of an army. From there, all we have to do is wait. In the meantime your Securitrons can hold the key areas of the Mojave and within a year there won't be an inhabited spot that is not flying your flag."

3

_Three Months Later_

The flag of the New Vegas Republic was officially raised over the Hoover Dam at 4:00 pm. The white flag, bright in the desert sun, was a marvel of simplicity. Instead of the stylized images used by the NCR and the Legion, the flag of New Vegas showed only an outline of the Lucky 38 surrounding an image of the Platinum Chip, that tiny piece of technology that was instrumental in the rise of Mr. House.

Boone, the First General of the NVR, stood at the Courier's side and together they saluted their new flag. Although the Courier had, at times over the past month, believed that Boone was on the verge of quitting New Vegas and returning to the NCR, it was now clear that he was in it for the long haul.

For only the second time since they'd met, the Courier saw Boone remove his beret.

Hundreds of people attended the ceremony. Nearly all of them, even at this early stage, were showing signs of the benefits that Mr. House had made available to those that pledged their loyalty to the NVR. Most of them would make the journey, along with the Courier, to Camp McCarran, where the first platoon of the NVR Army would officially graduate from Boone's "academy".

After a typically short remark to the crowd, Boone took his leave. His men would be expecting him to make a final inspection before the graduation. He said a quick goodbye to the Courier, and made his way back to McCarran - several of his NVR soldiers in tow.

"I'll have to find the time for us to get together. It's been too long." He said to no one in particular.

"Sir?" a young NVR recruit, his eyes wide with hero worship, asked. "Do you need something?"

"No." He smiled and patted the young man on the shoulder. "Just always remember that sometimes when you build something new, you have to be careful not to lose something old."

"Yes, sir."

The young man was obviously mystified, as if he had just heard some religious truth that was far beyond him. Youth, the Courier knew, had its advantages. Unfortunately it did not always have the understanding to go with it.

. . .

"How did you like the ceremony at McCarran? I must say I'm surprised to see how devoted the masses are to you as I was convinced this little plan of yours would collapse at your feet. I'm big enough to admit when I'm wrong, however. You've done excellent work, and I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Hearing Mr. House admit he was wrong, hearing him _apologize _was nearly enough to make him lose his balance. It did, however, make him believe even more strongly that he had done the right thing in supporting him. No one understood Robert House the way he did, but it was nice to be surprised.

This, of course, lead to another issue. The people of the expanding NVR wanted to see their President. Thus far, only the Courier (and to a lesser extent, Boone) had presided over official functions, and no one (not even Boone) was aware of the true nature of Mr. House. To the masses he was as mysterious as ever, and it occurred to him that many people might believe that he was the real power behind the NVR.

The Courier intended to put an end to that idea, just as he had put an end to (at least in public) "not-at-home" the nickname that some used to refer to Mr. House.

"It was inspiring, Mr. House. Would you believe that some of your citizens actually had tears in their eyes?" To the Courier, it _was_ inspiring. The Wastes had scoured most people of their tears, of their emotions, long ago. In his time, he had seen that most people were simply going through the motions - not actually living. They were little more than Securitrons. But now, with the forging of the NVR, hundreds of people had been given a glimpse of what life must have been like before the Great War changed the world.

"I saw the proceedings, of course. Would you believe that there was a time when such a display would have been commonplace? Before the War, people were much more _expressive_ than they are now."

The Courier smiled. "I was just thinking something very much like that, Mr. House. I take it you approve?"

"Yes. You've exceeded my expectations once again."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

1

Robert Edwin House was performing various minute computations, figuring and re-figuring cost projections, processing daily income reports, and running the necessary self-maintenance routines to insure his continued "health". This process took only a few moments, after which he was free to peruse the reports and the complaints that were coming in from various sources throughout the Strip.

The Courier continued to surprise him. Never in his long life had he employed such a loyal, trustworthy, man. Like most Wastelanders, he had little formal education, but he possessed a keen, natural intellect. _"And to think, he literally fell into my lap". _Yes, he was an unknown variable in the beginning, but he had proven himself to be the most important part of the equation. _"Not including me, of course."_

The Courier had asked him, again, to appear before the citizens of the NVR. The idea was intriguing, but dangerous. There would be much to do before such a thing could happen, as he did not intend for the world at large to learn his secret. It would, in his estimation, do nothing but invite attack were his enemies to learn that he was more than a man, and less than one.

Then again, he had very few enemies left in the Mojave Wasteland. The NCR had attempted to negotiate a new treaty, which was steadfastly refused, but had made no demands, no threats. The Legion had disintegrated, just as predicted, into varying sized tribes intent on conquering, or avoiding, each other. Intercepted radio reports made it fairly clear that the new president of the NCR intended to take the land once held by Caesar, which was fully expected. The so-called "Fiends" had been treated or eliminated, the Great Khans had left to seek their fortunes to the north, and the gangs that once roamed the streets had been, for the most part, pacified. The Boomers, previously xenophobic to the extreme, were beginning to timidly emerge from Ellis. The Super-Mutants of Jacobstown had applied for, and been granted, entry to the NVR.

All thanks to the Courier.

The problem was the possibility of new enemies.

A roaming Securitron had been destroyed far to the east, in the region surrounding what was, at one time, the pre-War capitol of the United States. It was unclear who destroyed it, but it certainly would require some investigation. The Courier had been made aware of the problem, and had dispatched human agents to infiltrate the area, though it would be quite some time before _they _ever provided any information – if they ever did.

In fact, the Courier sent agents into the heart of the NCR, to observe and report on any military build-up, and to provide a bit of an early warning should there be any threatening rhetoric concerning the Strip. So far, the people of the NCR seemed to be focused on revenge against the remnants of the Legion.

An examination of the Courier's pet eyebot provided the possibility of an enemy from the north, from the city once known as Chicago. It appeared that an Enclave outpost existed there, though whether they still did or not was unknown. He would discuss this possibility when the Courier arrived for their, now nightly, chess matches. _"Ah, chess! A game so seemingly simple, yet so deviously complex." _The Courier had proven to be an adept player, though he had yet to win a game.

The true value of their nightly games was the opportunity it gave him to observe the Courier, and learn more about him. He was intelligent, in a raw way, but seemed somewhat naïve - as many Wastelanders were. Or, perhaps, it was simply the lack of historical knowledge that made him appear to be so. It was difficult, at times, to remember that most humans had no firsthand knowledge of life before the War, and could not really be expected to converse as if they did. Most of the people out in the Wastes, and even in New Vegas, were totally uninterested. The Courier, however, was fond of asking questions about the pre-War world, and even surprised him on occasion by asking about something he'd read in some scorched, pre-War, book.

The Courier was becoming the closest thing he had to a friend. In a way, it was disturbing to him to realize the truth of that idea. After all, the Courier could only live for so long. More disturbing was the fact that the idea of friendship actually elated him. It had been a very, very, long time since he had considered anyone to be a friend. Even before his transformation, he had tended to keep people at arm's length. At that time, it was because his business was the most important thing in his life; his plans were all-consuming. He never had time for friendship then and now, well…

Playing chess gave him the chance to pretend, for a short time, that he was a normal human again.

2

The Courier's office, formerly NCR Ambassador Crocker's office, had been designed to reflect his personality. Mounted on the wall above his desk was the gigantic skull of a Deathclaw that he'd killed in Dead Wind Cavern. It was a symbol of strength that the Wastelanders understood and respected - and feared. A Deathclaw was not to be trifled with, and yet he had killed the legendary thing, cleared out Quarry Junction and the Gypsum Train Yards and, according to local gossip, did it all on his own – with nothing but a machete.

It was ridiculous, of course. Boone and ED-E had been with him, but they were never given the credit. Fortunately, neither of them had a problem with it. Boone was content with his army, and the fame it brought him (although the Courier always seemed to be mentioned in any military gathering), and ED-E was perfectly content, in his robotic way, to remain unacknowledged.

Mr. House had asked to dismantle ED-E, to learn as much as he could about the possible presence of the Enclave in the area of pre-War Chicago. That, of course, was out of the question. The most that the Courier would allow was a deep scan. As it turned out, the information gained was more than enough to convince them both that measures must be taken in the event of an attack.

New monitors were installed in the office, as well as in the Presidential Suite of the Lucky 38, which allowed the Courier to communicate with Mr. House without needing to go to the Penthouse or waiting for the intrusive presence of a Securitron. The monitors were specifically set to recognize only one man, him. It was some pre-War tech that Mr. House himself had designed – something the Courier had never seen before in a computer. He wasn't sure exactly how it worked but it did, and that was all he needed to know.

The pre-War image of Mr. House appeared on the screen, requesting a status update on the rebuilding efforts in Freeside. It was progressing just as anticipated. In fact, everything was going just as planned, and there had been no serious setbacks to contend with at all. This slightly worried the Courier, as experience had taught him that even well laid plans often developed kinks somewhere.

One item did worry him, and that was the increasing stream of refugees entering NVR territory from former Legion areas. The NCR had turned its attention to the fractured Legion, and men formerly loyal to Caesar were now seeking shelter in NVR lands – with the very people that had begun the process of destroying their way of life. That, in and of itself, was not the problem – after all, many in the Legion were there through force and fear. The issue that concerned him was that many of them seemed to be still loyal to that now defunct government.

To try and head off any possible insurgency, the Courier enlisted the aid of Manny Vargas –over Boone's initial objections. Vargas, who had physically survived the assault on Novac, was not faring well mentally. Reports from the Gomorrah suggested that he spent most of his time there, often passed out after a night of bingeing on both booze and flesh. Boone, angry still, wanted to exile him from the Strip, and was dumbfounded when it was suggested that he be given a position of importance.

In the most delicate way, the Courier explained the reasons behind Vargas' hostility towards the late Mrs. Boone. After a few moments, Boone seemed to have resolved whatever anger he had held.

Saying that he would speak to Vargas, he left.

Although he never told the Courier what was said between them, Vargas arrived at the office the next morning –sober, clean, and ready to serve. Boone was as closed mouthed as ever, and though it was certain that he would never share Vargas' feelings, it did seem as if their friendship might be mended.

The former-Legion refugees would be "stationed" at Cottonwood Cove until such time as their loyalty to Mr. House was certain. Manny Vargas was appointed Prefect, and several Securitrons would provide security.

As the day's supplicants began to pour in with their new requests, it suddenly occurred to the Courier that everything was running very smoothly.

That thought worried him most of all.

3

_Two Years after the Defeat of the Legion and the NCR at Hoover Dam._

**NVR Year 1**

The wall between the Strip and Freeside was finally coming down. After months of around the clock work, the Freeside restoration project was finally complete. No longer would potential "customers" be required to pay 1000 caps to enter the lavish, glorious, Strip. The idea being that the caps would come rolling in even faster now that the NVR had an actual economy. People were being _paid _for their work, and they wanted to spend those caps on the luxuries that most of them had never even imagined before.

. . .

Mr. House was pleased.

He still had not appeared to the people of his new republic, but the Courier had convinced him to give weekly radio addresses, spouting the usual patriotic platitudes, which the public seemed to love. It had never really occurred to him that such a thing could be useful, but it clearly had an effect that was most beneficial to his long range plans.

The problem was that his long range plans were beginning to change. No longer was his ultimate goal to seed humanity on some faraway planet. It had become very clear, over the past two years, that building on the ruins of the old world was a viable alternative – one that excited him unlike anything had over the past 200 years. The world around him was still poisoned, still dangerous – but not as immediately deadly as it had, at one time, been.

The Mojave Wasteland was largely secure and, in some areas, no longer technically a wasteland. Electricity was being restored in Goodsprings, Primm, and Nelson. Nipton and Novac were being restored and, in time, they too would receive electricity. The NCR's former sharecropper farms outside New Vegas were supplying food to the Strip and beyond. Several Brahmin ranches had been established and were flourishing, which severed the final ties to the NCR Brahmin Barons. Those wealthy cattlemen, on the other hand, wanted to forge new ties. The lure of New Vegas was stronger than ever, and the wealthy citizens of the NCR were eager to return.

"_Fools and their money…"_

The Courier had asked permission to meet with an NCR representative to discuss the possibility of restoring the railroad between New Vegas and California. Obviously, airline travel was out of the question – despite the many intact planes at McCarran. Trains, however, could be run without any petroleum products.

"_Oh how those Brahmin Barons would love to ride a luxury train straight to New Vegas!"_

. . .

For the Courier, what should have been a great day began with sadness. He had woken up to an intense feeling of pride over the impending destruction of the wall, and had even prepared a rousing speech to mark the occasion.

As he was leaving the Lucky 38, he nearly ran into Lily Bowen. It was unusual for her to come to New Vegas, as she felt somewhat overwhelmed by the lights, noise, and crowds. She spent most of her time in Jacobstown, continuing to tend the bighorners, despite the fame that she had gained from her role in the Nightkin cure and the defeat of the Legion and the NCR.

The Courier had at one time convinced her to take her medicine as directed. It seemed, at the time, to be the best thing for her. During one of his visits, however, he had found the priceless recording of her grandchildren carelessly tossed in a corner of the lodge. When he spoke to her about it, she had no memory of the recording – or her grandchildren. She was better, but her past was gone.

The loss of her past was too high a price to pay, so he finally told her to cut back slightly on her medicine. Over the weeks that followed, she began to regain her memories, and was grateful to have the recording returned. She listened to the voices of her long dead grandchildren immediately, and a tear coursed down her cheek – the first the Courier had ever seen her shed.

Lily Bowen - the woman who had been forced to outlive everything she ever knew, the Super-Mutant that had only one tie to that long ago world - decided to go west, to try and find what might be left of her past.

The Courier didn't try to talk her out of it, but he did tell her that she was always welcome to return when she found what she was looking for.

Even though he felt that he would never see her again, he knew that she would find peace at last.

. . .

The speech was a rousing success.

Thousands of people had poured into New Vegas. He didn't flatter himself that they were all there to see him, however. A rumor had been circulating that Mr. House would make an appearance and this, more than anything, brought the curious crowds to the ceremony. It was a completely unfounded rumor, as Mr. House had no intention of making himself known – yet.

Mr. House had listened with great interest to the Courier's story of his experiences in the Sierra Madre Casino. He was particularly interested in the hologram technology that Sinclaire had employed. He had known about holograms, of course, and had even remembered hearing about the Sierra Madre just prior to the Great War. The technology had never interested him before – largely because it was unavailable in the Mojave.

In a Securitron body, Mr. House had scoured every millimeter of the Abandoned Brotherhood of Steel bunker that Elijah had used as a base, and which was one entrance to the Sierra Madre. It seemed, however, that there was no further possibility of getting there from the bunker. The visit was not a total loss, however, as he was greatly interested in the vending machine. It seemed capable of producing a great variety of valuable items, with no limit to the amount vended. Surely the technology could be used for other purposes.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three Years after the Defeat of the Legion and the NCR at Hoover Dam._

**NVR Year 2**

Chapter 3

1

A suspiciously friendly NCR diplomat had informed the Courier about an Enclave communiqué that a group of Rangers had taken from a spy captured in Shady Sands. In it, it was suggested that New Vegas might be susceptible to a vertibird attack. The communiqué was partially damaged, and the spy had given no further information before his execution.

He had brought the information to Mr. House immediately, even though he was unsure of its usefulness. After all, there was no way of knowing how old it might be. What disturbed him was the possibility that it might, in actuality, be an NCR ploy to re-gain some of their lost influence in the Mojave.

Mr. House agreed that it was, most likely, an NCR plot. However, he was not one to wait and see. He immediately began making preparations for a possible attack. His roof mounted laser cannons were operational, of course, but might prove somewhat ineffective against targets that could change course at will.

Mr. House needed something else.

"I have a job for you."

The Courier was ready for the assignment.

. . .

The Courier, along with ED-E, travelled to Nellis. Unlike the old days, there were Securitrons, and human members of the NVR military, patrolling the roadways. Merchants, newly able to enter the Boomer stronghold, passed by – weapons holstered. With the new security, few caravans felt the need to inch along, constantly scanning for danger, and shipments back and forth had sped up considerably.

The Boomers bought and sold weapons and foodstuffs, and occasionally sold their knowledge. What Mr. House wanted, though, was something much bigger. He knew about the B-29, of course, and realized that the Boomers might be able to provide the one product that New Vegas was lacking. The Courier was sent to procure this product – no matter the price.

Pearl was pleased to see him, and even gently scolded him for staying away so long. She was aware that he had come for more than a visit, and he suspected she knew what it was he wanted.

"You want our plane."

No, she didn't know – not exactly.

"No, Pearl. We want your fuel." She seemed a bit taken aback by the admission, obviously having thought that Mr. House intended to take her beloved B-29 away from her people. "And your help."

"Tell me, Child."

So he explained it to her: The fear of an air attack by the Enclave, the lack of any real aerial defense, and the seriousness with which Mr. House took the safety of the NVR. He added a bit of his own, something he had not cleared with Mr. House, but which he thought would guarantee the cooperation of the Boomers.

"There are dozens of planes at McCarran. If you'll supply the fuel, and the pilots, the planes are yours – so long as you come to our aid if we need you."

. . .

So it happened that the Boomers procured a fleet of planes and, according to the agreement, these planes made daily rounds over the Strip, as well as the major cities of the Mojave. Mr. House was somewhat displeased with the Courier for giving away the old-world bounty of McCarran, but was mollified when he realized that, at some point, Ellis would become a part of the NVR.

. . .

Pearl had asked him to visit Pete at the museum. She beamed as she told him that he would be most interested in what he found. Though there was much work to be done, and though Mr. House was certainly expecting him to return quickly, he could not resist his curiosity and made it a point to stop before he left.

Nellis was certainly benefitting from the new peace. The Boomers were still somewhat reluctant to befriend "savages", but they didn't seem to have a problem trading with them. They had even gone so far as to construct a rest stop for the caravans on the far side of the base. As the Boomers grew more comfortable with outsiders, and their wares, they would grow dependent upon them.

Those Boomers that passed by him seemed more awestruck than usual. The Courier knew that he was well thought of by most of the reclusive tribe, but the adulation seemed to have grown far beyond mere respect. As he arrived at the museum he concluded that it was, perhaps, the greater visibility he had achieved since the founding of the NVR that had raised his reputation amongst them.

That is, until he stepped into the museum…

One wall, as always, contained the history of the Boomers and their hoped for future. The opposite wall, however, was no longer empty. On that wall was an image of the Courier, his arm outstretched towards what was obviously a plane floating on the surface of Lake Mead. The image was quite detailed, unlike the historical paintings, and portrayed the Courier with a look of peaceful determination on his face, and the faint suggestion of beams of light emanating from his body. The B-29 was surrounded by some form of energy – obviously to imply that his "powers" raised the plane from its watery grave.

Below the image, in large block letters, was written: "HE MADE OUR DREAMS COME TRUE".

Pete was not there, which relieved the Courier immensely. The image disturbed him far more than the passive hero worship of the citizens of the NVR.

. . .

"Your move."

Mr. House waited for the Courier to make his move, and when none was forthcoming he knew that something was wrong.

"I know that you've never been the most competent Chess player, but you do, at least, usually pay attention to the game."

The modified chess board, which allowed Mr. House to manipulate his pieces with the use of a robotic hand, was unchanged. The Courier did not have his mind on the game, and was not even attempting to make a show of playing.

"Well? I'm waiting."

The Courier looked up at the unchanging image of Mr. House, vaguely condescending as always. It was at times like this that he wished the image could display what House was actually feeling.

"The Boomers seem to be developing an unhealthy…worship… of me. It's…disconcerting."

As he listened to the description of the mural, Mr. House realized that it was the perfect means to his end –namely to gain control of Nellis, its planes, and the Boomer biodiesel production plant.

"Well, it may be disturbing, but it plays into our hands perfectly. This is an excellent opportunity to annex the base, to return the McCarran bounty to our control. Better still, with their "love" for you, we can take them without shedding a drop of blood. Vegas will have an air force, a supply of fuel, and the best trained pilots in the Mojave – all in one stroke."

He was right. There was no doubt in the Courier's mind that the Boomers would submit to the NVR if he told them it was the right thing to do. The few grumblers would be quickly overruled –especially if the Boomers still had control, more or less, of their beloved planes.

"I'll make sure they see the light."

"Well enough."

. . .

The attack came in the morning, but it was over almost before it had begun. Two vertibirds screamed over New Vegas – launching missiles, terrifying all those that were awake to see. Oddly, the vertibird attack seemed to center on the not yet rebuilt ruins of South Vegas. Minor damage was done to the former NCR embassy and the Monorail station, but nothing of consequence was irreparably damaged.

Two Securitrons were the only casualties.

Mr. House had underestimated the effectiveness of his rooftop laser canon defense system, and the two enemy vertibirds were shot out of the sky before they could complete a third pass over the city. It seemed that this particular enemy had very poor, or no, intelligence on the NVR as the Boomer fly over was due to arrive at any moment, and the pilots seemed unaware that the Lucky 38 had any defenses at all.

Both craft crashed in the desert on the outskirts of the city, but NVR military personnel were only able to salvage one – the other having been nearly totaled. The remains of the pilot of the surviving vertibird proved that the attack was orchestrated by the NCR – the man's dog tags were intact.

Mr. House was inconsolable - his anger approaching levels that the Courier had never seen, or even imagined. It was all he could do to get him to acknowledge that the attack was a ploy, just as he had earlier believed.

"Send a message to the NCR. Tell them that, until further notice, citizens of the NCR are forbidden to enter NVR territory. The Brahmin Barons won't be happy, I assure you. When they discover that their own government's actions caused them to be banned from New Vegas – they'll act. See to it that they find out."

The screen went blank.

Mr. House had spoken.

. . .

In the following weeks, the NCR president resigned. Shortly after, the NCR vice-president followed suit and tendered her resignation. The new president immediately sent word to New Vegas, disavowing the actions of the previous administration. She even suggested that reparation payments might be offered if Mr. House would lift the ban on travel. NVR agents told a much different story. According to their reports, the Brahmin Barons had refused to supply their products until such time as the government made thing right. It seemed that a week or two of hunger was enough to make the citizens of the NCR firmly suggest a change in government.

After ignoring NCR pleas for another week, Mr. House finally reversed his decision and formally re-opened relations with them. The offer of ridiculously high reparation payments certainly did a lot to assuage his anger.

Mr. House announced yet another victory over the NCR to the people of New Vegas, and the roaring crowds could be heard from anywhere in the city.

With the extra influx of caps, the rebuilding of South Vegas could begin. Thanks to the NCR, demolition costs would be much lower.

. . .

The Courier was flying!

The Boomers had insisted on giving him an aerial tour of NVR controlled lands, and he had, somewhat reluctantly, agreed. At first he didn't want to open his eyes, but once his stomach settled and his ears popped (an alarming feeling!) he cautiously looked to see an amazing panoramic view of the Mojave.

He was astounded at the beauty of the harsh place, and exhilarated at seeing monuments he recognized –but from above!

As the Boomer pilot was about to turn back towards McCarran, the Courier was struck with a sudden jolt of inspiration: he knew of the perfect gift for Mr. House. He gave general directions to the pilot, and within a few moments, the alien ship came into view. The Boomer, astounded by the sight, nearly flew into the mountainside.

Pleased that the ship was still intact, the Courier ordered the Boomer to land.

Two hours later, 20 Securitrons and twice as many NVR soldiers had arrived at the location, and the salvage had begun.

Mr. House, in a Securitron body, was exhilarated by the sight of the alien vessel. The new technology would serve him well.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

For the first time in many years, Robert House was afraid.

The Courier's Pip-Boy had picked up a signal originating just outside Nipton and, as usual, he insisted on investigating it himself. That had been a week ago, and no one had seen, or heard from, him since.

Ever since the gift of the alien ship had come to him, he had spent nearly every moment in extracting technology, and attempting to decipher the alien database. The ship held an amazing array of other world technology, and the large amount of time and energy consumed in uncovering it all made him extremely grateful that he had the Courier to take care of the mundane aspects of his expanding empire.

Besides, pouring through that ship was exciting. He was, as they used to say before the War, like a kid in a candy store.

The disappearance of the Courier put an end to his preoccupation with the ship. Now, his time was spent searching for any clue that might solve the mystery. The days were no filled with the constant scanning of radio waves, directing the dozens of Securitrons scouring the area between New Vegas and Nipton, and attempting to divert the hundreds of citizens demanding to know what had become of their idol.

A team of Securitrons had located a crashed satellite just outside Nipton. It was obviously the source of the signal that the Courier had gone to investigate, but there seemed to be no further clues as to what had occurred. The technology within the satellite was quite complex, but he was reluctant to move it or disturb it in any way – at least until he could determine whether or not it had anything to do with the disappearance of the Courier.

Unfortunately, the discovery of the satellite couldn't have come at a worse time.

He would have preferred to meticulously scan the satellite, extracting every bit of information in an attempt to discover the whereabouts of the Courier. The destruction of several Securitrons near the former California border demanded immediate attention, and he was forced to give up the search. At least for the moment, the Courier had to be given a lesser priority.

The Courier's eyebot, dispatched to the scene of the destruction, had discovered a small army of NCR soldiers massed in the ruins of Sandy Valley, a tiny pre-War city that would have been approximately an hour away from Vegas in the old days. Now, of course, other obstacles (the lack of automobiles being the most prominent) would significantly extend the travel time – but not by nearly enough. If these soldiers were as disciplined as the typical NCR soldiers – they could be in Vegas within a day.

It seemed they were staying put, but there could be little doubt what their intention was. Outlying communities, most notably Goodsprings, were directly along the path this force would take. Mr. House, at one time, would have considered it expendable. In the final analysis, however, the fact that the people there had aided the Courier made it somewhat more important – especially now that he was missing.

Victor had been sent to inform Boone of the new development. The general had not been happy with the news of the Courier's disappearance, and had been insistent that a massive search be conducted. More than likely, Boone would have turned over every rock, searched every cave and building, and questioned every person he came across until he found the Courier – dead or alive. Fortunately, he was persuaded to wait until the analysis of the satellite had been completed. It was incredibly fortunate, because now he might be needed elsewhere.

Under Boone's leadership, a massive NVR force, along with two dozen Securitrons, began the march to Goodsprings.

If the NCR wanted a fight, they'd get one.

. . . .

Oblivious to the events in New Vegas, the Courier arrived back at the Mojave Drive-In – courtesy of the Transportalponder given to him by the Think Tank.

It was a strange feeling knowing that his brain, heart, and spine were still housed (comfortably, according to his brain) in the Sink. He half expected to fall into a drooling heap once he arrived back. Apparently, however, distance did not diminish the effectiveness of his artificial implants and, in fact, it almost seemed as if his senses were heightened. He felt strong and, ironically, more alive than he ever had.

For the first time he noticed the smell of the blooming plants that dotted the Mojave.

All of it might have been his imagination, of course. After all, a week of running through dark, artificially lit labs could dull the senses somewhat. And, of course, returning so abruptly to the harsh brightness of the Mojave might have had the same effect even with his "original" parts.

Something was subconsciously disturbing him, though. At first, it didn't immediately come to him what it might be. Nothing was obviously amiss. In fact, it looked the same as it did when he left.

_No, it didn't_.

Studying the scene more closely, he finally realized what was different. Track marks criss-crossed the area like a web. They weren't random, but were methodical, purposeful. All the tracks seemed to terminate at the satellite, and radiate out from it.

Securitrons.

Apparently, Mr. House had sent searchers out to look for him. It was something he should have considered, but it never crossed his mind that anyone might come looking for him. He knew that Mr. House was reluctant to let him go off alone, and now he was sure that a lecture would be forthcoming, probably the instant he arrived at the Lucky 38.

Mr. House was truly a great man, but he wouldn't miss the opportunity to say "I told you so."

The dressing down would undoubtedly be lessened when Mr. House saw the "gifts". The Big Empty was filled with Old-World technology, and he brought many items back with him. The weapons would, no doubt, interest Mr. House, but the schematics would thrill him. The robo-scorpion schematics alone would be a bounty that any power would literally kill for - the Brotherhood of Steel and the NCR, for instance. With Big Empty weaponry, though, the main defensive advantage of the Brotherhood of Steel, their Power Armor, would finally encounter something that would pack a real punch. As for the NCR, it was fairly safe to ignore them.

. . . .

The Courier slept in Nipton that night. Though the town was being rebuilt, many people shied away from it because of perceived Legion "taint". Well, there was nothing that he could see or feel that would cause him to pass up a bed for the night. The solitude was a blessing as well. The Strip was never quiet, no matter the time of day.

A smell kept him from falling asleep. It wasn't something that he could immediately put his finger on, but it was definitely there. It was obviously not coming from anywhere in the house, but it was strong enough to tell him that it wasn't some momentary smell brought in on the wind.

Then he had it – it was fire. The Nipton fires had been extinguished long ago, but it was possible that his new "brain" was still detecting traces of them. It seemed strong than a residual whiff, however. It was also possible that some passing caravan or even a remnant of one of the gangs had recently set up camp nearby.

Something still wasn't sitting right, though, and caution won out over sleep. If there were gang members nearby, he wanted to put them down before they could cause trouble, or join up with some larger gang force somewhere. The gangs had suffered since the rise of the NVR, and reports had suggested that the remaining members of the largest of them had joined forces. Not that they would ever be a real threat, but they could certainly be a threat against lone travelers or homesteaders in the outlying regions.

Quietly leaving the house, the Courier detected nothing - no movement, no campfires, and no sounds. The air was still. He felt troubled, but couldn't quite explain why. Scanning the horizon, he could see the bright, almost garish, glow of the Strip. He had seen the sight a thousand times, but it was different this time. He was certain it wasn't some heightened sense, as the glow seemed almost exactly as it always had.

Oh, well.

Walking the road to New Vegas finally gave him the final piece of the puzzle. Something was wrong on the outskirts of the city.

Something was on fire.

The wind shifted, and now he could faintly make out the sounds of weapon fire, and screams. Someone was attacking the city, and it was impossible to tell, because of the distance, who it was, or who was winning.

What he did know was that when you're in Vegas, his Vegas, you don't bet against the House. Whoever was attacking Vegas had just drawn a dead man's hand.

The Courier was certain that they had no idea what was coming.


End file.
